The corridor outside their rooms was quiet, save for the occasional groan of old beams settling against the breath of the northern wind. A single brass lantern flickered on the wall, its flame thin and tired, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched and bent with each wavering of light.
Kel stood before the door to his room.
The key felt cold in his gloved hand—metal leeching warmth the moment his fingers curled around it. He turned it with a soft click, opened the door, and stepped inside.
The room was small.
Not poor.
Not luxurious.
Simply functional.
A single narrow bed sat against the far wall, its frame dark wood, its mattress covered with a thick wool blanket dyed a muted brown. A square window, crusted lightly with frost, peered out toward a sliver of Ashstone's northern wall and the dull smear of night beyond. A small table with a simple chair stood beneath the window, and an iron hook was bolted near the door for cloaks.
The air held the faint scent of old smoke, dried sweat, and cheap soap.
Kel closed the door behind him.
The sounds of the tavern below softened, muffled through stone and timber. What remained was a dim, enclosed silence—too narrow to feel empty, but quiet enough that his own breath sounded louder than it should.
He reached up and unfastened his cloak.
The weight slipped from his shoulders with a low, whispering drag of fabric.
Underneath, his frame looked thinner than it should for a thirteen-year-old noble heir. His shoulders were narrow, but his posture hid the frailty. The dark coat clung well to him, clean lines disguising the lack of flesh beneath.
He hung the cloak on the wall hook, fingers steady despite the chill seeping into his joints.
Then he sat on the bed.
The mattress dipped beneath him, springs complaining faintly.
He let his back rest against the cold stone wall, facing the small window that showed nothing but a dark smear of frost and hints of snow drifting past.
His body, now still, began to report its injuries and grievances in full.
A faint ache along his ribs. A dull throb behind his lungs. The burn of tired muscles layered over a deeper, colder fatigue that had nothing to do with exertion.
The curse curled somewhere inside him like a sleeping beast.
Not biting.
Not yet.
But breathing.
Always breathing.
Kel closed his eyes.
For a moment, he simply listened—to the emptiness of the room, the muted crackle of a distant fireplace below, the faint whistle of outside wind searching for cracks to enter.
Then his thoughts began to move.
They rarely rested when his body did.
I didn't choose any star.
The admission echoed in his mind without self-pity.
Only fact.
He opened his eyes again, gaze drifting up toward the ceiling, as if he could see through black stone and wood, beyond the inn's roof, beyond clouds—
Into a sky he knew far too well from another life.
Eighty-eight constellations.
A mapped-out heaven, carved into system, structure, and fate.
I didn't choose any of them, he thought. Because I am not from here.
His fingers ghosted over his chest, where no astral pattern burned.
I am… a trespasser.
A stranger wearing a boy's flesh in a world that believed firmly in its own rules.
Constellations.
Awakenings.
Tiered ascension.
All of it—real here.
Not numbers on a screen.
Not mechanics explained by tooltips.
But paths pressed into human lives.
For me, constellations were once… options on a build menu.
Now they are chains.
He exhaled slowly.
A pale thread of mist left his parted lips and vanished in the cold room.
But then his lips drew into the faint suggestion of a smile.
Bitter.
Quiet.
For me, he thought, they are chains I refused.
For them… they're not.
His eyes darkened.
He thought of Landon's honest, calloused hands, clenched in embarrassed conviction as he spoke of The Dormant Mountain.
He thought of Reina's steady gaze, holding the weight of five constellations and refusing them all until the world forced her hand.
For people born here, Kel reflected, choosing a constellation isn't luxury.
It is survival.
He leaned back further into the wall, feeling its cold press between his shoulder blades, grounding him.
They don't have my memories of game guides and optimization. They don't have my knowledge of how destinies branch and collapse.
All they have… is the sky above them. And a choice to either reach for a star… or stay mortal and break.
In this world, staying at Tier One – Mortal Origin was not romantic independence.
It was a sentence.
No aura beyond the basic.
No enhancements.
No path beyond what raw effort could achieve.
And raw effort, without a star, hit a ceiling quickly here.
Monsters didn't care for ideals.
Curses didn't care for "free will".
If they want to live, he thought, they must chain themselves to a constellation.
Or be eaten.
He lowered his gaze.
His eyes lost focus briefly, thoughts folding inward.
So for me, constellations are shackles I evade.
For them, they are the only ladders in a pit with monsters climbing down.
Silence pressed closer in the small room.
Kel closed his eyes again.
Then… if I intend to drag them with me into the kind of places I'm heading… I cannot leave them without ladders.
Reina's face surfaced in his mind.
Calm.
Controlled.
With that single flicker of confusion when she woke with her hand still wrapped around his.
And beneath that composure—
Rage.
Grief.
Sharpened discipline.
Five answering constellations.
None chosen.
Reina cannot stay unbound, he thought. Not for long.
Not if she walks with me.
He knew what lay ahead.
Snow barbarians.
Hidden portal.
Scarder Lake.
Entities that were beyond Tier Four, Five, Six.
Beings that didn't simply kill you—they rewrote you.
Without a star, she will hit her limit the moment we step beyond the safe thresholds of this world's rules.
His hand tightened over the blanket.
The curse pulsed once inside him in faint disapproval, like a reminder that he was the one most likely to break first.
He ignored it.
If Reina chooses a constellation this year, he calculated, with her foundations and discipline…
He thought of the way she fought.
Every strike efficient.
Every step controlled.
Eyes never losing focus, even under pain.
She will likely reach late Tier Three – Path Seeker, and touch Tier Four – Celestial Growth before Landon finishes consolidating his current level.
Landon had potential, yes—but his path was long, heavy, built on endurance.
A mountain's growth was slow.
Unstoppable once moving.
But slow.
Reina was different.
Her growth would be rapid—sharp leaps followed by deadly stabilization.
In terms of growth speed… she will outpace him.
In terms of raw potential… she already has the edge.
He thought of their conversation.
Landon, choosing Dormant Mountain because it mirrored his refusal to stay down.
Reina, standing with five doors open, viewing each as a chain waiting to claim her.
Landon's path is honest.
Reina's is… unsettled.
And unsettled things were dangerous.
For enemies.
But also for themselves.
If she delays too long, he thought, the world will try to choose for her.
A mercenary commander.
A corrupt priest.
A lord seeking a weapon.
Someone would force her to lean into Silent Huntress, or chain her to Broken Crown, or twist her into Pale Thorn for quiet killing.
I can't let that happen.
He opened his eyes.
Frost clung to the edges of the window, intricate patterns forming fractal webs. Beyond them, the night sky remained hidden by snow clouds.
But he knew what lay behind that barrier.
Stars.
Burning patiently.
Waiting for souls to hook themselves upon their light.
I reject all eighty-eight paths, Kel thought, because I have a thirteenth one.
The unseen one. The unbound path. The path that broke the game.
He had spent twenty playthroughs searching for it.
Rejecting constellation after constellation, even when it made the game nearly impossible.
The "13th path" players mocked.
Now he was living it.
He had no star.
No astral bond.
Just knowledge—and a curse that wanted him dead.
He let his hand fall away from his chest.
But they are not me.
Landon and Reina were not transmigrators.
They were not anomalies.
They were children—wounded, disciplined, stubborn—born under this sky, shaped by this world's cruelty, and bound by its core laws.
If they wanted to live…
They needed stars.
So I will help her choose a chain that cuts least deeply, he decided. A constellation that accelerates her growth without hollowing her soul completely.
He thought again about her five possible branches.
Silent Huntress.
Frost Crow.
Broken Crown.
Pale Thorn.
Distant Lantern.
Each came with power.
Each came with risk.
Silent Huntress – deadly, solitary, with a high risk of emotional dissociation in later tiers.
Frost Crow – vision, reconnaissance, omen-bearing, but tied heavily to cold, omen-driven fates.
Broken Crown – rebellion incarnate; strong, but prone to mental fracture and identity war at Astral Divergence.
Pale Thorn – efficient killing through poison and bleed; strong, but corrosive to empathy over time.
Distant Lantern – strategist, guide, support from behind; less raw power initially, but potential for influence and survival.
Kel's eyes narrowed.
Distant Lantern, he thought. If shaped properly… it could let her survive longest. And see furthest.
It would not be as flashy as assassin paths.
Nor as sharp as rebellion.
But its potential for coordination, battlefield control, and late-tier authority over movement and paths…
In a world like this, he considered, someone who can keep others from losing their way is more precious than someone who merely kills faster.
He exhaled.
His breath fogged and faded, leaving his face momentarily stripped of all expression.
Reina has the foundations to walk any of those paths.
But this one…
He had seen what players with Distant Lantern could do at high tier.
Terrifying map control.
Path manipulation.
Team survival beyond reason.
If I nudge her… carefully… she could grow into something the world is not ready for.
He closed his eyes once more.
The curse shifted, sending a faint lance of chill pain through his ribs.
He let it.
Landon will grow solid and slow. He will be the weight that doesn't move once placed.
Reina… could be the light that moves others.
And I…
His lips curved into a thin, humorless line.
I will be the shadow that refuses to take a star.
That was his role.
The unaligned variable.
The glitch in the astral ledger.
They will grow along official paths.
I will handle the things that fall through the cracks.
He sank lower against the wall, finally letting his body ease sideways, stretching out onto the bed. The coarse blanket scratched mildly against his skin, but the weight of it was grounding.
His eyes drifted once toward the window.
Snow still fell.
Ashstone's northern wall broke the view, but above it, a faint, blurred glow suggested the hidden sky beyond.
They will look up someday and see their chosen stars, he thought hazily as fatigue crept in. And I… will walk where no constellation can reach.
His vision blurred.
The ceiling darkened.
His breath remained thin, shallow, carrying a small tremor with each inhale as the curse tightened around his lungs.
But he did not fight sleep this time.
He had already set tomorrow's resolve.
Help Reina choose.
Protect Landon's growth.
Reach the mountain portal.
Reach Scarder Lake.
Survive.
His last clear thought before sleep took him:
In the end… whether it's chains or ladders…
I will make sure the stars serve us.
Not the other way around.
The room dimmed.
His eyes closed fully.
Outside, the unseen constellations watched.
Inside the small, cold inn room, a boy without a star slept—
Already planning how to realign those that shone above everyone else.